❝she'd gone from being irrelevant to being unavoidable, and what wouldn't peter give just to see her one more time❞
[book 2]
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good people always get second chances.
at least, that was what aslan had told phoebe the last time she'd seen him. no...
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Peter had limped over to her side, but neither one of them had really stopped to breathe or to think. Phoebe supposed she was lucky, lucky that he was only limping, lucky that he wasn't in the same position as Miraz, lucky that relatively, he wasn't hurt. Still, she found herself unable to look away from the scene before her, unable to tear herself away from Caspian, standing over his kneeling, injured uncle. Caspian's emotional turmoil was plain as day on his face.
Phoebe supposed she really ought to move, really ought to put on some armour of her own. After all, the likelihood of the Telmarines keeping their word was utterly slim to none. Slowly, her eyes trailing his every movement, Caspian lifted the sword. The sheet of metal was trembling so severely that Phoebe was afraid it might drop. Could Caspian really go through with this? "Perhaps I was wrong, my boy." A sickening grin twisted the kneeling leader's face, and Phoebe almost shuddered. Caspian's hand faltered even more. "Perhaps your father was the weak one. Perhaps you do have the makings of a Telmarine king after all." And in an instant, the blade in Caspian's hand went eerily still. The trembling ceased. At least Miraz had the good sense to seem afraid, his grin slipping away. He had been wrong to mention Caspian's father.
With a roar of some kind of guttural anger, Caspian drove the blade down. Phoebe turned to Peter's shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. There was something about killing a man when it wasn't during battle. When did it change from war to murder, Phoebe wondered. However, instead of some stomach-turning noise, the thud of a body or the crash of armour, all Phoebe heard was the nauseating scrape of metal on stone. Turning back, opening her eyes, Phoebe saw that Caspian had not killed his uncle.
No, instead, like something from a tale of old, his sword - Peter's sword - was driven down into the stones barely inches from where Miraz knelt. Phoebe saw the fallen leader turn his eyes to Caspian, a silent question there, arrogance too. The man thought he'd won, and, in a way, Phoebe supposed he had.
"Not one like you." The trembles that had been so evident in Caspian's voice earlier were gone. It almost gave Phoebe chills - Caspian was practically spitting on his uncle. "You can keep your life, uncle, for whatever that's worth. But I will give the Narnians back their kingdom." Cheers rose from the Narnian army, a cacophony of noise rising up behind her. Phoebe had to admit, she felt proud of him.
Caspian gripped the sword, pulling it out of the stones with some effort, and began to walk back towards them. There was a certain glow in his eye, but he had a grim set to his face. Clearly, he was well aware that this wasn't over yet. Peter went to begin walking to the base as well, but he winced, his foot dragging slightly. He must have been more injured than he was letting on.
If they had more time, she would have stopped him, made him tell her what was wrong, but she couldn't.
"Here, Peter." She held the cordial up to him, and for the second time that day, he took it from her, smiling gratefully. "Listen, I need to go get ready. I'll see you soon, okay? You too, Caspian." Phoebe smiled back at him, trying to convince herself that this wouldn't be the last conversation they would ever have. It wouldn't be, not if she had anything to do with it.
